


Nursemaid

by samchandler1986



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Prompt Fic, hurt/comfort ish?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 20:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16226744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samchandler1986/pseuds/samchandler1986
Summary: Prompt fic: Ruth gets sick and Sam has to look after (from several anons - hope this fits the bill :) )





	Nursemaid

The young doctor shines a light, painfully bright, into her right eye. “And what’s the last thing you remember?” she says.

“Uh, leaving my room to go to rehearsal,” Ruth answers, voice hoarse. Across the room she sees Sam grimace at her answer, habitual scowl not quite hiding his concern.

“You don’t recall hitting your head?”

“No.” Nor waking up from her brief period of unconsciousness, or the cab ride over here. Even the waiting room with Sam is kind of blurry.

“Okay.” The medic takes a step back, hands on hips as she considers Ruth on the hospital gurney. “Well, I think what we have here is a nasty concussion.”

“Really?”

“Yes. So, the prescription is going to be bed-rest until the nausea and head pain subside. You’ll need to gradually build up your activity. It’s important you don’t push yourself too hard.”

Ruth’s face falls. “Really? But I — I’m a wrestler in a show on the Strip. I was hoping—”

The doctor shakes her head. “No contact sports for at least two weeks.”

She closes her eyes, despairing. “Fuck,” she says, under her breath.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s frustrating. But a concussion is a minor brain injury, it’s important to take recovery seriously. Now, you’ll need to have someone with you for the next forty-eight hours to make sure you don’t develop any new symptoms and, frankly, that you actually rest. Do you have someone who can do that for you?”

Ruth blinks. “Uh…”

There are fourteen friends she can count on for extended visits, but they still have to rehearse and perform; they have their own lives that need—

“Yeah,” says the forgotten Sam. “She does.”

Her eyes find his, anxious behind his glasses. “You’d do that for me?” she says, once they doctor has left the room.

“Yeah,” he says, softer than usual. He coughs, clearing the catch in his throat. “I surprise me too sometimes.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet. You haven’t seen what kind of nursemaid I make.”

She laughs. “I can’t wait.”   

* * *

The pulsing neon of the casino front feels like an assault on her aching head. She puts her hand against the body of the cab for a moment to steady herself.

“You alright?”

He’s annoyingly observant when she doesn’t want him to be. “Mm-hm,” she lies. “Just a little dizzy.”

“Well, take it slow.”

“I’ll be fine.”

If she says it with enough confidence, maybe she’ll convince herself, too. She swallows the rising nausea and steps forward, keeping her eyes on the casino doors. It’s worse than being drunk; the world is spinning sickly and her legs feel only half under her control—

He catches her as she stumbles. “Which part of _slowly_ gave you trouble?” Fierce expression at odds with the almost tender way he’s holding her. “Jesus Christ. Here. Just – just lean on me. I won’t let you fall.”

“You sure?”

He gives her a look. “I’m sure. Come on, Bambi. One foot in front of the other.”

Walking makes everything worse, the casino floor a giddy blur. Even with his arm around her she’s listing like a sinking ship. Bright spots strobe across her vision and she trips over her own feet again. He reacts instinctive, pulling her tight against him. “Woah. Too fast?”

“Fuck,” she says, “I’m sorry. I just—”

“I know, I know. It’s alright. Here.” He takes her arm and puts it over his shoulders. “That’s it. Now, just hang on tight.”

“Hang on— _what_ —?”

He sweeps her off her feet in reply. It’s annoyingly _easy_ for him to carry her in his arms; a strength he doesn’t have to earn through hours in the gym. Even through the crackling static that seems to have invaded her brain, she’s suddenly far too _aware_ of him. The line of his jaw peppered with stubble; the surprisingly solidity of his body against hers. She’s tried _not_ to think of him like this — of Sam the man, rather than Sam her boss or Sam her friend — ever since the last time she found herself in his arms and—

“Don’t hit my head,” she says, as kicks open the fire-door at the end of the corridor.  

He laughs. “That’s rich, coming from you right now.”

* * *

She doesn’t realise she’s dozing, drifting in the grey between asleep and awake, until he closes his book with a snap. She jerks into wakefulness, wincing slightly at the pain behind her eyes.

“How’s the head?” he says.

“Uh, about the same.”

“Hmm. It’s five past ten.”

Her brow wrinkles as she tries to make sense of this pronouncement. “You can go if you need—”

“Don’t be an idiot. I’m not leaving. My point is: show’s over. In about two minutes you’re going to have fourteen extremely loud visitors.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly.” He raises his eyebrows. “Want a doorman?”

It’s tempting. As much as she wants to see everyone, the thought of loud noise makes her feel slightly sick. “Oh, no,” she hears herself saying anyway, “You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. You don’t have to sit there with a headache making other people feel better about themselves either. Give me your list. Who do you want in?”

“No. Honestly, it’s fine. It’s _nice_ that they—”

“Uh-huh. I’m letting in Debbie, Sheila and anyone else I clock as being under fifty fucking decibels.”

She’s smiling in spite of herself. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Try not to enjoy it too much,” she suggests.

“Now that,” he says, “I can’t promise…”

* * *

She opens her eyes to curtained dark, the pain in her head faded to a dull ache. Throws the covers off her legs and swings them out of bed—

“Hey, woah,” says the voice of Sam, cracked with sleep. “Where the fuck d’you think you’re going?”

“Jesus!” she yelps. “You’re still _here_?”

He sits up from where he has clearly been sleeping on her floor. “Has it been two days yet?”

“No, but—”

“Then I’m still fucking here.”

“You weren’t here earlier,” she points out.

“Because you had other company and I needed a smoke. And a piss.” He sighs. “Look, if you want me to go wake up Sheila instead—”

“I didn’t say that. I just… wasn’t expecting you.”

“Why are you disobeying doctor’s orders, anyway?”

“I just wanted a drink!”

“Well, ask for one and I’ll bring it.”

“Fine!” She tucks her feet back under the blanket. “I’d like some water, please.”

He struggles to his feet with a groan and goes to fill her a glass.

“Here.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re so fucking welcome.”

She snorts a laugh at that, clearly his intent. “You’re right,” she says. “You’re a terrible nursemaid.”

“Mmm,” he replies from the floor, crawled back into his nest of blankets. “I don’t think you’re a model patient either, for the record.”

“Are you really sleeping down there?”

“It’s fine.”

“Are those _my_ spare—?”

“They’re from my room, alright? Jesus Christ...”

She’s grinning again. “G’night Sam.”

“Fucking hell. What are we, _The Waltons_ now? Good night Ruth,” he calls, sing-song sarcastic. She turns her smile into her pillow and closes her eyes. Almost asleep when she hears him add softly: “Sleep well.”  


End file.
